


Her light

by KendraPendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angel!Lock, Demon!lock, F/M, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Spiritual, happy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon!lock, Angel!lock. She has found him. And now she has to destroy him. That is her duty. For centuries she has hunted him. Now, it will end. If only there was another way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her light

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is an old thing I had lying around in my file for ages. Today I finished it. Not sure if it is any good, though. Sometimes I have such clear pictures in my head but somehow I can't find the right words to describe them. Any of you know what I'm talking about?  
> Anyway, I didn't spent hours on reading books about angels and demons for this one. Just some random search. Apparently, there are three spheres and nine ranks of angles. Molly is an Exusiai, which is the six rank. Her task is to hunt demons, if my source is correct. If not, meh. It's a work of fiction and I think it's still enjoyable, if you are into this sort of fic. Hope you like it.

Her heart is drumming against her chest as she looks up to the rotten house, its bowels spilling out. Tainted. Infected. An open, purulent wound. To everyone else in this clueless world this was a beautiful building. Three stories high, red brick fronts except the ground floor with its elegant white stones. On the black door, there are three golden numbers and a letter. The final clue.

Three months has she been searching and now she has reached her final destination. The end of her pilgrimage.

 

Her stomach churns as the foul stink hits her nose. She shivers in disgust, but fights the urge to heave. She must be strong now.

So she closes her eyes and takes another breath, filling herself with the vitiosity. Her body wants to revolt against it, but she wouldn't allow it. She has been trained to withstand.

 

Bitterness. So much bitterness.

Pain.

Hatred.

 

She frowns.

 

Loneliness.

Sadness.

Longing.

 

Her brown eyes open.

There is still hope.

Gathering her inner strength, filling herself with the holy light, she starts walking.

The seals he has put up are strong. So strong. They claw at her soul, try to steal the light. So she gives in. She is not afraid.

The light in her will never go out as long as she believes.

She breaks the seals by overcharging them with the light.

 

Reaching out her hand, she touches the black door. A painful jolt, the fire of fear and hatred raging through her body, taking her breath away.

On a reflex her wings stretch out. A mighty flap chases the darkness away and destroys the door.

 

The stench that hits her nose is overwhelming.

 

Poor creature.

He has been alone for so long.

 

A growl, warning, threatening.

Her heartbeat accelerates.

He is strong, so strong. She can feel his power. His eyes are upon her, even though she cannot see them.

She looks past the door into the darkness.

Taking one last breath, she lets it swallow her.

 

Her bare feet walk over a hot, slimy ground. Blisters pop open when she steps on them, soiling her feet with stinking pus.

Does he think this it all it takes to scare her?

She walks on.

Her hands glide over the wet walls, guiding her through the darkness. She can smell metal.

Blood.

It's running down the walls. She doesn't know if it is his or his victims'. It is not important. She has already freed the souls he has taken. Whatever remains is waste.

 

Stairs.

 

Another growl. It turns into a loud bark when she sets foot on the first step.

His anger vibrates through the stinking air. More blister pop open. Pus hits her face and chest. She feels how the hot liquid runs down her body, burning her skin.

She is not afraid.

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

His voice right next to her ear.

His foul breath hits her slender throat.

“You are very afraid.”

His shadow circles her. His claws reach out, but he can't hurt her in this form. Slowly, she turns her head to the side. She feels his mighty presence in her back.

“So are you.”

She lifts her gaze.

Blue eyes.

Angry.

Hateful.

So lonely.

 

They vanish a second later.

She moves on.

Around the corner.

More stairs.

 

Now she can hear him breathe. Long, deep breaths, accompanied with rattling growls.

The rustling of feathers.

She can feel them beneath her feet now. They crunch and stick to her skin as she climbs the last few steps.

 

She has arrived.

 

Slowly, she straightens. With her willpower, she illuminates his lair. His wing moves to block the light. The black feathers rustle. They are soiled in blood. His blood.

A sting in her heart.

“I am sorry”, she breathes gently and reaches out, her petite hand running over those beautiful black feathers.

His breath stutters.

“I wish it didn't have to come to this.”

A growl is her answer.

His wing is drawn closer, out of her reach.

Now she can enter the room further.

Shadows of furniture. A fireplace.

Two realities bleeding together, clearing and disappearing with every shallow breath he takes.

She can hear the blood rustling in his lungs and feels regret.

“You are dying.”

A dark, bitter chuckle.

“That was kind of the point, wasn't it?”

“You attacked me. I had to defend myself.”

“I have become tired of our game.”

She nods.

“The hunt has gone on too long. I apologize.”

The black wing shivers, the feathers rustle.

He has difficulties to keep it lifted.

Patiently she waits until it lowers.

The body it's protecting is revealed.

Pity fills her heart.

The demon is sitting on the ground, hunched over the grey couch. Black blood is spilling from the ghastly wound across his torso, his claws dug into his skin, trying to hold his pale flesh together. The remains of his once white shirt are sticking to his sweaty, heaving chest.

She takes a step in his direction.

Instantly his head snaps up.

Blue, bloodshot eyes meet gentle, brown ones.

“I would stay there if I were you. I can still kill you.”

His eyes are full of rage.

“I can ease the pain”, she offers gently.

“I don't want your light, Exusiai!” he spits and tries to hit her with his once mighty wing.

He misses and cringes as another gush of blood spills from the wound she had carved into his chest with her sword.

She can feel the power leaving him, can hear it in his ragged breath and the creaking walls.

When his head sinks on his chest, she starts walking.

She is in the radius of his wingspread when his head snaps up again.

His eyes are burning with desperation.

 

She lets it happen.

Lets him close his wings around her and knock her off her feet. He presses her against his bleeding chest, his breath hitting her face hotly as his hand claws into her white wing.

An evil grin spreads on his sweaty face. With his sharp claws it only takes a little pressure to puncture the skin underneath the feathers.

She gasps and stares into his eyes, which are looking at her wing.

He watches how her blood soils her glowing white feathers.

“Have you ever spilled blood before, Exusiai? Or is it your first time?”

His voice is smooth and she shivers.

When their eyes meet again, her heart aches.

For a second, he frowns.

His body, as destroyed as it is, feels warm against her own. She can feel his heartbeat against her chest, still strong and stubborn. His blood has seeped through her white dress and runs down her front.

Never has she been so close to anyone. It is not part of her being. She is a shield protecting the heavenly sphere from earthly evil. She brings balance to the world by hunting and destroying demons.

Him.

Once, an angel like herself.

Falling down to earth had blackened his wings. Being banned from the holy light had blackened his soul.

Poor, poor creature.

 

His eyes widen.

He sees the pity in her eyes, hears it echo within her soul.

With a desperate, hateful outcry he breaks her wing.

 

She throws her head back and screams.

 

But he is not done.

In his rage he sees the exposed, slender throat.

Letting out a growl he sinks his teeth into it, breaking her delicate skin.

He had planned to rip her throat apart, but then her blood fills his mouth.

Sweetness.

Purity.

Love.

Light.

_The_ light.

 

With an outcry he throws her across the room.

 

She smashes into something, but she can hardly feel it.

Her body is shaking as his darkness fills her, scorching her soul.

She is falling.

She screams until the darkness takes her breath, as well.

The light is leaving her.

 

He watches as her beautiful white feathers blacken.

Watches as the holy glow leaves her body.

Hot tears are streaming down his cheeks.

This, by far, is his greatest sin.

 

When the sacrilege is done, the room fills with her sobs.

The tears she spills sparkle in the darkness. They vaporise as soon as the hit the ground.

And then there is nothing but grave silence.

He turns his face away and closes his wings around him.

He can't bare to look at her.

He will die.

But she will live.

Until her own kind will come to kill her.

His eyes fall close.

...Poor creature.

 

 

He has already stopped breathing when a light behind his lids catches his attention. He struggles, but he manages to open his eyes.

Her face is in front of him.

The holy light making it glow.

 

It's not possible.

 

Her fingers caress his cheek.

It is wet with tears.

“I forgive you.”

He can hear her voice inside his. Her thin lips aren't moving.

These words.

How can she forgive him?

She has hunted him for centuries. She knows what kind of life he has condemned her to.

“Can you forgive me?”

Through heavy lids he looks at her, asks the question his mouth can't form anymore silently.

“I failed you. I was a bad hunter.”

“Or I was just exceptionally clever”, he shoots back.

She smiles.

His dead heart beats one, bittersweet beat.

He feels the cold of death now.

Only her hand and her light warm him.

Her brown eyes shine with tenderness. A tear runs down her cheek.

“It was a good hunt. I had a lot of fun”, he tells her.

He doesn't know why he still exists.

But he wants to spend the rest of his existence looking at her.

“You eased the pain.”

A pain she now can understand.

The light is fading. The warmth on his skin lessens.

 

It takes another tear to make him realize that she is using her light to keep him alive.

“Let go”, he orders her softly.

She closes her eyes.

Their foreheads touch.

“I can't.”

He will cease to exist.

There is no place in hell for him.

He doesn't care.

To him, it is a mercy. He can't go on without the light. Every single day since his fall he has been hurting. His soul has been cold and scared for so long.

He just wants it to end.

 

Her breath hits his lips.

It is ragged.

“Don't waste your light on me. You have an eternity without it ahead of you.”

 

Their eyes meet.

 

Now that the rage and the fear are gone, he notices another feeling.

Once, his heart had been full of it.

But then he had forgotten.

The fall had burnt the memory out of him.

Now he remembers what it is.

It is what makes his heart fill up with peace.

“I love you.”

Her eyes widen.

He wished he could still smile.

But his lips don't move.

Neither can they kiss her back when she places her mouth on his.

But he can feel it.

He feels the tenderness and love.

 

They have been so foolish.

 

Warmth fills him and right before his soul disperses, he feels the light one last, bittersweet moment.

 

The light...it is her love.

 

~oOo~

 

The double doors to the autopsy room smash into the walls. Doctor Molly Hooper jumps, the heart she is holding slipping out of her hand and landing on the tiled floor, spurting out a jet of blood which of course hits her across her chest, leaving a rather artful line on her lab coat.

As footsteps approach she quickly bends down and picks up the heart and puts it on the table. The organ is ruined. She sighs.

“Sorry, Molly. We didn't mean to startle you.”

“No worries, Mike. I'm always a little-”

The words die in her throat.

In front of her stands a man with a face so beautiful it literally takes her breath away. Her mouth falls open as she looks into those slanted, mesmerizing blue-green eyes.

“Wow.”

This is the first thing she says to Sherlock Holmes.

Mike introduces him and Molly, still starstruck, reaches out her gloved, bloody hand.

Mr Holmes only raises an eyebrow.

It takes her ten seconds to realize why he is not shaking her hand.

“Oh, God, sorry! One moment.”

Almost panicky Molly starts pulling off her gloves. She never really got the hang of those blasted things.

“Doctor Hooper, there is really no need-”

The damned rubber glove slips through her fingers and is flung at the beautiful man, hitting him at the shoulder and not his face, luckily.

“Oh dear God.”

Molly doesn't know what else to say. She thinks it's best if she doesn't move at all.

Mr Holmes stares right back at her for a moment.

Then he turns to Mike Stamford.

Molly can almost hear him ask ' _Seriously?!_ '

“You said you needed assistance of a pathologist. And Molly is the best.”

“Then I guess she just hides it really well.”

Molly gasps for air.

That was really rude.

She will not let him talk to her like this!

His blue eyes settle on her again.

Or are they green, after all?

“Well then, Miss Hooper. I need Ms Fairbourne autopsied. Do you think you can do that without ruining more of my clothes?”

Molly blushes furiously and presses her lips together.

“Y-Yes. And if you bring me the bill from the cleaners, I'll gladly pay for it.”

“Very well. Let's start, shall we?”

While the – consulting detective? - sheds his coat and whirls through her autopsy room, all Molly can do is stare at him.

He is the most attractive and rudest man she has ever seen and she already knows – she is in trouble.

“I'll leave you two alone”, Mike announces and turns to leave.

Molly almost asks him to stay.

But she is a grown-up. She can do this.

 

After an hour and a half they are done and Mr Holmes has proof of his deduction. Also, Molly is madly in love with him.

Gosh, that man is brilliant. And not grossed out at all. He even asked her a few things. Molly is almost sure he did in order to test her knowledge.  
“You will do, doctor. See you next time.”

With that he leaves her, swooshing out as fast as he has swooshed in.

She stares after him long after the door have stopped swinging.

 

She is in a lot of trouble, indeed.

 

~oOo~

 

“Will they ever know who they were?” Verchiel asks his brother. They are sitting on the roof of St. Barts hospital, the last sunlight basking their white wings in warm, orange light.

“No. It is of no importance. They are human now”, Camael explains, staring into the setting sun.

The breeze feels cold on his skin. He enjoys it. So does Verchiel.

They are silent til the breeze is gone.

“Are you sure we did the right thing, brother? His soul is still hurting. He has been without the light too long. What if he can't love her?”

Camael takes a deep breath before he answers.

“He has loved her when he was a demon. That's why I turned him. If he could love her without the light, I am sure he can love her as a human.”

Another pause.

“You turned him because of her”, finally Verchiel comments.

Camael looks down.

Doctor Molly Hooper just exited the building and is now walking down the street.

Camael rises and follows her over the rooftops, Verchiel at his side.

“You are right, brother”, Camael admits, looking at his former sister, “I did it for her. I couldn't bare the thought of her as a Fallen. She didn't deserve such a fate. So I changed them both, hoping that they will lead a better, happy life as mortals.”  
“I didn't mean to accuse you, brother. I am happy for her. Even him. I wish there was hope for all of them. Once, we were all one kind.”

“Yes...”

Camael watches how Molly is waiting for a red light to turn. From the bottom of his angelic heart he wishes her nothing but happiness. He closes his dark eyes to say goodbye to his sister, hoping that her soul would hear him.

Then he turns around.  
“Come, Verchiel. They have met now. It's up to them to do the rest. Enough meddling.”

His brother smiles and nods.

The angels spread their wings, leaving the mortal world behind with one mighty flap of their wings.

 

Down on the street, Molly hears the rustling of feathers. She looks up at the orange sky.

She can't see any birds.

How odd.

And yet, she finds herself smiling.

She has no idea why.

 


End file.
